Branding
by Emil Lime
Summary: "That brand will forever bind you and I". It was today that Kratos would lose his soul, being cast into a life he did not chose for himself. Three years, he'd fought tooth and nail against this. Three years, and he'd finally broken. Freedom fleeting from his fingers, Kratos enters a new life, one that will lead him and the world to ruin. Pre-Cruxis
1. The Branding

A/N: Man, it's been awhile since I've been in the Symphonia fandom. Needless to say, replaying the game in HD has inspired me to look at some of my old ToS stories and this one really got me. I can't believe I hadn't gotten around to posting it.

So, this story is my head canon for Kratos. It varies a lot from the usual head canons I've seen, namely because it's so much darker. This story doesn't warrant an M rating in my opinion, though feel free to let me know if you think it does. However, I would definitely rate it as T+ or Older Teen. Sadly, no rating exists, so I'm giving you all a heads up here. There is some heavy language and mentioning of adult themes, so proceed with caution if you're sensitive to those things. Anyway, without further delay, here's the chapter!

Enjoy!

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Chapter One: The Branding

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What he first noticed was the sound of the clanking bars, each one rattling out its own song before quickly dying down as if the very oppression in the air served as a chocker. Hushed whispers came next, each one louder than the previous one. Shuffling back, hiding away and trying not to be seen.

The prisoner didn't move, didn't dare too. If he did, he'd he hit, or worse.

Metal clanged against stone and heavy footsteps wandered in. Fear rose in his throat, threatening escape as he looked up towards the person who'd entered the cell. Though the darkness wouldn't permit the light to pass, he could still make out the faint outline of the man before him and feel the sadistic smile that danced upon the that man's lips.

It was today that the prisoner officially lose his life, lose his entire will to struggle against the binds that held him so tightly, against the man who'd tortured him for nearly three years. It was today that this man would get his final laugh, that this man he knew as Sigheart would finally end everything once and for all.

A shift from above startled him, Sigheart lowering himself to be at the prisoner's level. "Good morning," the deep voice sent a rolling shock of terror up the prisoner's spine, the cold wall his back leaned against doing nothing to stop the shivering that began. "How did you sleep, my dear Kratos?" He cackled softly, his rancid breath, smelling of blood, rolled off his tongue to stain Kratos' cheek.

Kratos couldn't move, couldn't respond, the terror coursing through his system to much to bear.

"Answer me!" A harsh pain etched into Kratos' face, forcing it to one side. A surprised wince came from him as his cheek continued to burn, the fire rolling up his face and down his neck.

Chocking out a response, he stammered, "I-I'm sorry! I slept fine, I slept fine…" More fear, more terror. Dead fingers brushed the stinging cheek, a soft caress that horrified Kratos to his very bones. The gesture stung like salt on an open wound, causing him to shiver harder under the would-be-delicate touch.

"My dear little Kratos, I'm sorry. You know I am, right?"

The word stumbled out of his mouth quickly, "yes." The caressing didn't stop, the sadistic man gaining even more pleasure when he started running his fingers through Kratos' hair, eliciting a soft yelp.

"Today's the big day," hot breath teased the other's ear as Sigheart's hands wandered down the other's neck, stroking the back of it ever so gently, "today is the day that you'll finally break." Digging his nails into the sensitive flesh at the back of his neck, Kratos grimaced, his breath entering and leaving his lungs far faster than it ever had before.

A deep laugh penetrated the very walls that housed it, echoing deep within the hall and causing the shuffling from earlier to happen again. Either the others here who were damned were curious or they were shying away, though whichever they were doing, it didn't matter. Not anymore.

The hand found its way back into Kratos' dirty mane, yanking him to his feet. Shouting out, he struggled to stand, weak against malnutrition and pain. The darkness soon left him, small sketches of dark blue light tracing its way onto his eyes. Once they were out of the cell, Kratos' wrists were forcefully brought behind his back, cold steel being placed upon his already raw skin. He could see several of the others that stood with Sigheart, the half-elves whom had given up on humanity's pathetic excuse of fairness and created their own version of it.

"Let's get him to the chamber," Strong hands grabbed at the binds, pushing him forward. There were others as he passed, those who'd shrunk away into their cells, waiting patiently for transport. Their outlines were barely visible in the sapphire lighting that was laced overhead, leaving them half eaten by darkness. He didn't even know their names, those countless lives who stood at deaths door like he did. Not a single one knew him, and neither of them probably cared for him and his situation. That was how things were. Even those he trusted the most, had the most confidence in, failed to save him. Now, he was paying for their failure, paying for all of it.

The hallway's twists and bends confused him, as he'd only been through them blindfolded. Now, however, he could see and it was throwing him off. "We're almost there, my child." A frosted hand traced Kratos' spine, landing on the back of his neck. It chilled him, making his legs begin to quake. So much damn fear and there was nothing he could do about it, nothing he could say to make the sadistic man halt his actions.

Passing through several doors, most requiring an identification number, and travelling through yet more hallways, they'd reached the chamber Sigheart had mentioned. The room was well light, blinding Kratos as he first entered. In the immediate middle of the room, two sets of shackles were laced to the ground in front of a short stool. All around the room, mirrors stood tall, reaching the very ceiling with their crystal hands. Dozens of guards stood in there, waiting with deadly grins. All of them half-elf and all of them ready to see a human squirm.

"Lock him up."

Kratos was dragged to the stool, the cold shackles being removed but being replaced in front of him by the others. They were far heavier, dragging his wrists towards the floor as he tried to hold them up. He couldn't even pick up his legs as they were locked down, the strain far too great.

Snickers bounced off the reflective glass, tickling the room a shade brighter, hurting his eyes. Heavy footsteps sent his hear racing, panic licking through his veins like poison, burning him from the inside-out. A loud clamor came behind him, startling him. Sigheart's booming voice threatened to crack the mirrors, "Thank you for coming, my comrades. It's taken a long time to break this one. We all remember his feisty attitude when coming here, how he was going to 'send us straight to hell'? Well, nearly three years later and he's finally cracked." Cackling from the audience followed quickly, half-elvish sneers coming from within the crowd. Ones that Kratos knew far too well.

"Not only that, but he's my bitch. I tell him to fetch, he says?"

"Yes, master." Kratos heard the laughs that erupted from the room, jabbing into his very heart. They were making a joke out of him, an example. He would serve as the perfect model of their power. Three years and he'd given up everything, making him nothing more than their toy.

"And if I tell him to beg, he says?"

"On my hands and knees, master?"

"And if I tell him to fuck, he says?"

There was no hesitation to Kratos' answers. "How hard, master?" Terror raced through him as the other burst into laughter and Sigheart, himself, was laughing. Breathing faster, panic threatened him as his mind whirled between reality and the past. If he wanted to set an example of just how much power he had over Kratos, Sigheart surely could. The very thought terrified him but he had nowhere to run now, nowhere to hide.

When the voices died down, Sigheart leaned close to his prey, hot words spoken so only Kratos could hear, "I designed this room just for you, Kratos. I wanted everyone to be able to watch you finally snap, even you." He gestured to the tall mirrors which sat behind the large crowd of half-elves.

He was unable to control his shaking and it made the sadist smile. The smell of burning metal came to Kratos next, its putrid odor causing him to gag. Sigheart's voice came to him for the last time, "It's time for the branding."

Hot streaks of pain jutted from his neck, flesh burning away and steaming, melting under the heat of the iron. White flashed across his vision, blurring the world in a canvas of colors. Was he screaming? He wasn't sure. More pain before the hot rod was taken away, the searing skin beginning to cool down.

Kratos' hair was gripped tightly, forcing him to his knees, "beg for more." Pulling tighter on his hair, Kratos let out a yelp, Sigheart's voice ramming into his ears, "beg!"

"Please," he could feel the tears pressing into his eyes, dripping out as his hair was pulled harder, "Please, master, brand me again."

"Gladly," another jab and the tears came loose. This time, he could smell the cooking flesh, smell the acidic burning that was being done to the back of his neck. When it was removed, it was heated and slammed in again.

Over and over, the hot metal sizzled into his skin, leaving black stains mixed with red in its wake. Several times and Kratos could no longer keep count, begging for it to end, his throat being rubbed raw as he did so.

No matter what he said, though, the sadist would have his fun. The more he begged, the more pleasure was gotten and by the end of it, when the coals had cooled and the rod would no longer heat quickly, Sigheart removed his hand from the tangle of Kratos' hair and let him fall to the floor to sob.

Nothing but the stinging pain came to him as he lay there, feeling completely broken apart. The soft chuckle of the sadistic man entered his ears but other than that and the ringing, nothing. Pain twisted its way through his system, the tears never ceasing. He just wanted to die, nothing more. Being alive was more torture, he knew, and that meant Sigheart would never let him be killed, never let his 'little bitch' die.

He was being pulled up, the weights around his ankles and wrists being removed. Dragged off to where, he wasn't sure, he knew it no longer mattered. Letting them do as they pleased, he arrived at what he figured was his cell, the cold ground a welcomed greeting compared to the intense heat on the back of his neck.

Those heavy footsteps followed in as the door closed behind them, metal latching against metal. A rough hand reached back to touch the charred flesh, causing Kratos to scream. "You like that, don't you?"

He couldn't answer, couldn't think. The words didn't make sense to him as the man dragged his dirty nails against it, increasing the pain even more so.

"You know I love it when you scream…"

A weight came upon his, forcing him on his back. Mixing pain and panic, he didn't even struggle when the strong hands came around his throat, chocking him. At one time, he would have clawed at those hands, would have tried to push them away. Now, he accepted them, the desire to free himself from this hell existing no more. Even when one hand was removed from the stranglehold, rushing to the hem of his pants, everything no longer mattered. Kratos was broken, used up and now, the master could have his way with him.

He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see it happen again, not again. His only blessing was the sheer pain of his neck, making the rest of his body numb to the deeds that were being done. Even as he screamed, he couldn't feel it, couldn't hear his own voice begging the master for more like the good little bitch he was.

Not until the very end, when the body weight of Sigheart was crushing down on him, did hear even hear a word of what was being said, "You're mine now, Kratos." Through breaths, he huffed to him, "that brand will forever bind you and I."

The stinging was still uncontrollable, masking the pain that echoed through the rest of his body. If he was crying, he wasn't fully aware of it and that didn't bother him anymore. Before, he would have fought back, held his feelings in to keep Sigheart from getting pleasure from it. Now was a different story. He simply no longer cared.

Sigheart's heavy breathing steamed up the shell of Kratos' ear, "As long you have it, you're mine. And as long as I'm alive, you're mine. Don't forget that."

He wouldn't. How could he? What had been placed on the back of his neck marked his as Sigheart's property, made him a part of the vast collection he'd gathered. Being branded meant he no longer belonged to himself, that he was a slave to this very man or any man Sigheart felt inclined to give him too.

It was what he'd fought against for nearly three years but in the end had failed to avoid. Now that he was branded, he belonged to himself no more.


	2. The Harvest

A/N: I think it should be said where my head canon for Kratos started developing. A long while ago I read a fanfiction called "Kharlan Chronicles" by HeroR. I don't think they know they served as such a huge inspiration for this (or that they'll ever know, really) but I figure I should give credit where credit is due. Anyway, here's chapter 2! A special thanks to Kazen for reviewing and thanks to those of you who read chapter one!

Onward!

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Chapter Two: The Harvest

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Linked to several other people, the train of humans continued their long march towards the capital of Tethe'alla. The glowing capital, which hugged the horizon closely, glimmered in the decaying sunlight and gave everyone a feeling of unease.

Kratos had always wanted to see the capital of Tethe'alla, having been born in Sylvarant. Even with the continued war between the two nations and his feelings of hatred for the enemy country, Meltokio was said to be a sight to see and he'd promised himself he'd see it one day.

This wasn't exactly how he'd planned to see it, however.

When they stopped for a break, several of the herders surrounding them to watch them with trained eyes, Kratos seated himself like the others did. The chains were heavy, bruising his wrists and ankles even more so than the binds he'd worn for nearly three years prior had. Or, at least, he thought it was around three years. If it had been as long as he'd suspected, he'd be somewhere around the age of nineteen.

The teen years were almost behind him, it seemed. He'd wasted the better part of his life, the part where most people were focusing on dating and relationships, school and parties. He'd wasted it being trapped and tortured in a prison.

Prison. That was a good word for it.

The officially coined term that people used was an 'Arasesr Encampment', but that was because anyone who hadn't been to one of these 'encampments' didn't understand the hell that was waiting for those who had. Kratos knew it couldn't be helped, the people would stay ignorant.

"Get up, we're moving out!"

Shuffling back to his feet, Kratos and the others hurried towards Meltokio in silence, neither daring to speak a word to anyone.

The wind came rushing over them as they crossed the plains, reminding Kratos of his now crudely chopped hair. It was shorter than he'd had it in years, the Arasesr cropping it so the branding on the back of the neck could be seen. Looking forward, he could see the other people's brands, the mark that brought them to where they were now. People were branded before being sold. It was like putting your signature on artwork. Kratos quickly hushed his thinking, unpleasant memories washing forward.

The night passed and it wasn't until the middle of the next day that they'd finally reached the golden town, outer walls gleaming under the heavy battle armor that'd been placed after the previous bombing of the city. Sylvarant had bombarded the walls of the ocean-side city in hopes that they could crumble its defenses. It turned out to be a failure and Meltokio rebuilt itself bigger and stronger than ever.

Entering through a back exit, which was protected by members of the King's royal guard, the slaves and their escorts travelled through wooden passages in the massive wall to reach a safe house that was attached directly to the wall on the inner part of the city. It was dank, dirty and musty, making Kratos gag as they entered. Sawdust spiraled through the air, landing helplessly on the ground. He watched it go, falling and landing so perfectly dead on the wooden floors.

"Line up," an Arasesr shouted, the mass of slaves huddling into a line. Their chains were then locked to the floor with bolts that'd been hammered into the wood, trapping them in place for the time being. The Arasesr captain, whose cropped dark green hair sat like a nest on his head, scanned the group of slaves before turning to one of the royal knight.

"House opens at six, sharp. It'll close at midnight, no exceptions. You tell your people that." The royal guard nodded before hurrying away, leaving the Arasesr and their prisoners to themselves.

Kratos looked around the room, eyes taking in the scene. The room was bare, nothing hanging on the walls, the only opening a doorway which was covered by a thick blanket. A single bulb, fueled by volt's lightning, hung from the ceiling. Several of the Arasesr stood with their backs against the walls, eyes watching the humans closely. They were waiting for them to make a move, for them to attempt escape from the situation but Kratos knew no one would. Why attempt freedom now? The branding made it harder for someone to seek help, sane people casting aside those with the mark to avoid being targeted by the Arasesr.

Unless they knew someone personally in Meltokio, their chances of fleeing successfully were rather low. No one would help the lost souls the Arasesr had taken possession of. No one.

Hours passed, the group forced to stand the entire time. Occasionally, a guard or two would pester one of the humans, usually a woman, but no one said anything to stop it. It was ignored by everyone, including Kratos, each content in trying to savor their last moments of 'freedom'. The time finally came when dozens of rich folk, dressed in their lowest degree of clothing, which Kratos still judged as upper class, gathered inside the dusty room after paying what he figured was a rather hefty entry fee.

They spoke to one another in muted tones, pointing with their fingers or their eyes at ones that interested them. Not being allowed to get very close at the moment, the front of the room became packed to the brim with eager shoppers, all of them loaded with money for their upcoming purchase.

Kratos could feel a rapid pounding in his chest, the group of slaves shifting back a little as more poured in to stare. The voice of the commanding officer startled him and he shifted his head to see the man more clearly, "welcome ladies and gentlemen to today's Harvest."

There was a small bit of clapping; some of the younger ladies ooh-ing and awe-ing, indicating it was their first time being at a slave auction. When the noise died down, the commander smiled at them, though hate hid just beneath the surface of those eyes, "the rules for the Harvest are as follows," pulling out a sheet of paper from an inner armor pocket, he began to read, "each slave will be presented to the group, if no one chooses to put a bid on it, it will be locked up and you can no longer bid on it. So, it's important to bid on it if you want it."

More whispers broke out amongst the gathered crowd and Kratos couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach. Treating them like animals, selling them off to the highest bidder, it wasn't fair and it made him hate half-elves far more than he already did.

If anyone standing in the room was some kind of 'animal' it was the sellers and the buyers, willingly ignoring the humanity in front of them for cheap labor. Were all people really that disgusting deep down? If he had the money and the means, would he be where those in fancy clothes stood?

"The slave will go to the highest bidder, no exceptions. If a fight breaks out, the Harvest will end and we'll be on our way. Finally, it's important to remember that the location of the Harvests is of the utmost secrecy. Disclosing this information is a crime that is punishable by the Arasesr." Rolling up the paper and shoving it back into his pocket, he glanced around at all of them before smiling his shallow smile, "that's it for the rules. Shall we get this Harvest underway?"

There was some more clapping, more gawking sounds, more excitement. It was a party for them, some kind of game that was beginning soon, and every single one of them was pleased with where it was going.

One of the low ranking Arasesr walked towards the slaves, heading for the one standing to the far left. The woman was unhitched from her binds and pulled forward. Black hair, which had long since been cropped short, and terrified blue eyes. What Kratos knew about the Harvest was very little but he did understand one thing, the women had it much worse than men. Men were sold mostly for labor while women were mainly sold for sex. From the look on her face, she knew that, too.

She was handed to the head commander, "The starting bid for her is 40,000 Gald. She's 5'5'', weighs 130 pounds and is 20 years old. Any takers?" Hands shot in the air, fingers pointing and close palmed. There were several shouts, their voices raising the very temperature of the room. Numbers were being called left and right,

50,000

52,000

55,000

Faster and faster, their lips flew until finally the bid was going once, going twice, sold to the highest bidder with 87,000 Gald.

Kratos hadn't even seen that much money in his life time and yet, some rich human was dropping that money on a woman for the sole purpose of using her. Worst yet, it wasn't even a young man. Instead, it was old money, gray hair shying away from the top of his head. He had a snarl on his face that disturbed Kratos, his crooked teeth glowing yellow as he grinned at her.

Taking her and paying his due, they quickly left the room, not even interested in staying around for the rest of the Harvest. He exited out the covered doorway, her cries being muffled by the sounds of the anxious crowd.

And without another thought to the woman who'd just lost her freedom, the Arasesr continued their business, selling off human after human in a tizzy of excitement. Some of the more fortunate ones weren't bidded on, not appealing to the crowd, and they were locked up again, ready to be transported to the next town.

The man before Kratos had been accepted by one of the youngest auctioneers, her bright yellow sun hat and chubby cheek face showing her extreme youth, most likely no older than fifteen. She'd taken the man and Kratos could hear her speak eagerly about how she wanted some more, even though her parents had already bought her five.

The novice Arasesr unshackled Kratos, a toothy grin greeting him. He felt his heart begin to pound against his ribcage and, had it been silent in the room, he was sure everyone would have heard it too. The commander grabbed him roughly by the arm, speaking out to the crowd like he'd done so many times before, "the bid starts at 10,000,000 Gald. He's 6'1, weighs 147 pounds and is 19 years old. This one's special, broken into compliance by the head of the Arasesr himself. He won't disobey you and if he does, send him back for a little 'fix'," the crowd laughed and Kratos simply lowered his head. It hurt to listen to them sneer at him, call him names. He was one of _them_, wasn't he? A human. And yet, he was treated no better than the scum that sold him off.

The bidding began and he cringed as the numbers got higher, breaking the 20,000,000 Gald range and dancing clear up through there. Were they really going to buy him for so much money? It was ironic that someone who possessed so little value actually ended up selling for such a large price. Trying to make it a complement, however, was proving to be difficult and with each increase, his heart slammed against his ribs just a little harder.

The commander's voice carried louder than the others, "going once, going twice…Sold to the highest bidder at 65,865,000 Gald!" His heart stopped, the number appearing in his mind's eye. That number couldn't be right, the half-elf mispronouncing it. 65 million Gald for him?

Looking through the crowd, he watched as it parted, revealing a tall man. His muscles were evident under his clothing, the powerful body he housed daring anyone to tangle with him. The small eyes that sat upon his tan face glared down at the teenager, making him back away in fear. Kratos couldn't look into those eyes, they scared him, reminded him of things he'd rather forget.

The commander bowed humbly, pushing the slave forward, "it was an honor selling to you tonight, Grand General Steele." The man said nothing as he made his payment, taking Kratos roughly by the shoulder and pushing him to the back of the room. Being pushed against the wall, he was forced to stay there for the remainder of the Harvest, a powerful grip threatening to break his shoulder.

When the Harvest was over, the rich and powerful began to leave, some taking home the slaves they'd just purchased. The Grand General waited for everyone else to filter out, making Kratos nervous. He wanted to get out of the small room, which had heated to an uncomfortably high level since the start of the Harvest inside. He also wanted to be free of the Arasesr who continued to stare him down like prey. If they could have their way, they'd toy with him like Sigheart had, leaving him feeling even less alive than he already felt. And, honestly, he would allow them to have their way anyway, counting living was something he wasn't fancying.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't be alive for much longer anyway. What someone was going to do with a 65 million Gald slave was anyone's guess. He didn't suppose he could brag about his purchase price to anyone else, could he?

The half-elf commander gave the General a sour look, "good day, Grand General." The intimidating man nodded, dragging his only slave out the door.

The cold air attacked Kratos' face but, nonetheless, he was grateful for it. Looking towards the blackened sky, he was disappointed that the smog of the massive city covered up the shining specks that he could so clearly see back home. Listening, instead, he could hear no whispers or scurries, everyone having tucked themselves away for the evening, the Grand General and himself the only spectators of the night.

As they reached the end of the poor district that the Harvest had been housed in, the crashing of waves came to Kratos. Looking to his left, he could see a small section of docks, each with tiny vessels tied, tickling the top of the water while drifting along on the waves. He could smell the salt, feel it brush against his skin and awaken his sense.

How long had it been since he'd seen the ocean? Probably four or five years, as he'd moved to Balacraf around that time. It'd been at the docks of Luraina, where his family's voyage finally reached the fabled docks of the 'City of Water' and they would begin their trek towards the land locked city.

The smell of the ocean breeze brought everything back to him. He could feel the warmth of his mother's embrace, feel the way his father would tussle his hair, hear his little brother's laughter. Everything was okay and he was safe, no longer in danger, no longer dead inside.

It was taken from him suddenly, the Grand General jerking him forwards. Stumbling from the spot he hadn't been aware he'd stopped on, he tripped and landed on the ground, barely catching himself.

"Get up," his voice was demanding and a strong arm came down and dragged Kratos to his feet.

"Please," he hadn't realized he was speaking before it was too late, "please, let me see the ocean."

The man paused, Kratos immediately regretting his words. Hadn't the commander warned of such things? If Kratos rebelled, to send him back and have him 'fixed'? "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Apologies were swarming out of his mouth but the bigger man wasn't listening.

Yanking his shirt collar, the man brought Kratos to his eye level, "what did you ask me?"

"Nothing. Sir, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. I didn't mean-"

"_What_ did you ask?"

Keeping eyes low, Kratos chocked out the words, forcing back his fears, "can I see the ocean?" It was a mumble but the Grand General seemed to hear it. The giant man took a deep breath and Kratos squeezed his eyes shut, knowing the worst was going to come. He'd just gotten out of Sigheart's grasp and now he was about to be returned to it. Terror was storming down his spine, ripping apart every nerve in his body. He wanted so desperately to die, to finally have peace, to go back to where his mind had taken him not so long ago. He wanted to be back at the docks with his family, to hear the roar of his father's ship as it ported, to hug his father close as his entire family welcomed the tired man home. He wanted to go back there, to his home, his parents, and his brother.

His feet suddenly became cold, something squishing its way between his toes. Opening his eyes, he could see the caress of blue tickling at his ankles. The iron grip on his collar loosened up, allowing him to sink into the wetted sand below.

Blinking, he looked back at the man who stood just beyond the water's reach, "w…why?"

Nothing but the gentle swish of the waves against the coarse sand could be heard for several moments, the strong man looking past Kratos and into the darkened distance before him. "Because you asked."

His knees weakened but he didn't fall, instead, his eyes were locked on the other man's. Hot stings caught Kratos' attention but he decided to ignore them, not caring what he looked like anymore. Nothing, there was nothing he could say to express his thanks. He could only show it by turning to stare at the deep sapphire waves as the night slowly became day.


	3. The Meeting

A/N: ALRIGHTY, here's chapter 3! I'm sorry it's been so long. I've been going through a lot right now and my life has just started calming down. So I'm trying to get into a cycle of some kind between my different fanfictions, where I post one and then the other and so on. My hope is a new chapter will be posted every two to three weeks. So, stayed tuned.

Thanks to those of you who reviewed! I enjoy hearing your thoughts about the chapter and the possible direction of the story. I figure I should address this since one reviewer did. The canon according to Tales is that Kratos is a royal from Tethe'alla, a general in the army. Don't worry, my friends, I haven't forgotten/didn't know this. All in good time. Anyway, I'll stop my rambling and let you all get on with reading! Enjoy!

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Chapter Three: The Manor

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Crimson waves washed upon his feet, the golden rays that reached passed the horizon reminding him that morning was coming. Looking behind to see the Grand General standing there, eyes still fixed upon the open sea, Kratos dared to speak, "th…thank you, sir."

The General turned his beady eyes towards the teenage who regarded him, half raising an eyebrow, "it's what you asked for, wasn't it?"

"Huh?" another wave crossed his ankles, bringing the icy ocean back to the forefront of his mind. He'd been standing in it most of the night, the waves driving themselves farther from the beach as the moon went lower into the sky. Finally, it'd come to meet him again and he realized how utterly cold he'd become.

Standing a little taller, though he didn't need too, the General looked towards the breaking dawn, "you may be a slave but that doesn't mean you aren't human."

"Then why buy slaves at all?" Kratos turned to his owner, "why purchase them and force them to work for you?"

"It's to save them. If I don't purchase them, someone less forgiving than I will."

Biting his cheek, he turned his head away. He didn't want to be hit so he decided to keep his mouth shut. The best thing he could do for himself was be grateful someone kind had purchased him, not like the crooked toothed man who'd bought the woman with the terrified blue eyes. Why had he expected anyone with a royal background to understand what the Arasesr actually stood for?

"We should be moving," stepping away from the beach, the tall man inched towards the cobblestone walkway, leaving Kratos alone in the water. He threw a glance back to see if he was planning on following, but the teen didn't move. "Are you coming of your own will?"

Taking a deep breath, the salty ocean scent burning into his nose, he looked up at the man but quickly looked past him, "I'll come." Stepping out of the water, the sand now starting to stick to the soles of his feet, he followed the General up the stone path, leaving the beach behind.

When they reached the noble quarter, he couldn't believe his eyes. Everything was extravagant. Each mansion had carvings upon the marble that danced like a summer's breeze. Gardens of lush colors and greens twisted their way around the walkways of the rich and powerful. Golden rooftops, which Meltokio's rich were famous for, glimmered in the appearing sunlight. Though the streets were mostly empty, he could feel the very presence of the energy the streets held.

How he wished he could see them come to life.

Meltokio, the largest city in the world, had the perfect view. Sitting atop a massive hill, the entire city headed upwards from the crashing waves until the streets reached the castle gates, its silver walls glowing radiant in the light, no matter how little. Kratos, at just the right angle, could see the ocean between houses and the tall walls that surrounded the city. As they reached the castle, they took an immediate right, stopping in front of a gated gathering of buildings.

A guard, garbed in rich purples and steels, nodded to the General, "Morning sir, I see the Harvest went well."

"Better than I'd planned," nodding back, the two were allowed inside. Stopping once they reached the center of the buildings, a giant fountain greeting them in the middle of an open courtyard. The tall man gestured around himself, "this is my manor, where you'll be working."

As they continued walking, Kratos stepped quickly, struggling to keep up. They made it to a tall building whose back wall faced the edge of the cliff, a grand view of the ocean sitting behind it and the black railed fence. Gasping at the view, Kratos couldn't hold in his surprise, which the Grand General had taken note of.

Upon entering the building, the fresh air was cut off and a cooling breeze washed over him. Thinking back to his days in class, he remembered reading about the wealthy, some of them having purchased exceedingly expensive air compressors, known as Central Air Units. Something about Mana flow and a reaction that occurs between lightning and wind Mana, though he couldn't remember the entirety of it.

"This is the residential building of my manor. I, my wife and my children all reside here." Several maids rushed past them as they walked up a grand staircase which sat parallel to the doors across the foyer. Kratos watched them disappear before he began to question the reasons he was being shown where the Grand General and his family lived. Was he showing off?

Walking to the top of the stairs, they were greeted with panoramic windows, showing the brilliance of the ocean as the sun began to crest over the waves, staining them bright yellow. Turning, they went down a hallway, entering a large office where a massive wooden desk stood in the middle of the room. All around, books of many different shapes and sizes lined the shelves that sat next to the wall. Yet another window, though it wasn't facing the ocean and instead the court yard of the manor, sat comfortably behind the desk, Kratos' eyes travelling to it. Several gardeners were getting to work tending to the flowers that sat potted around the fountain and the benches.

"You like the ocean, hm?"

Throwing himself into attention, Kratos nodded, "uh, yes sir. I do."

"Why's that?" He was pulling a huge cigar out of one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out a small device. Flicking it open and running his finger along a grooved wheel, a small seal appeared before a fire bloomed into existence, lighting the cigar.

Already, the heavy scent of cigar smoke attacked Kratos' nose, making him gag internally, "My father, uh sir, he was a sailor." Standing straight but letting his eyes linger, Kratos quickly forgot the smell when he spotted several dozen bottles sitting atop the shelves.

"A sailor? For the navy?"

Shaking his head, Kratos looked swiftly towards the man before dropping his gaze to the floor, "he transported and sold goods."

The Grand General put away his lighter, holding the cigar between his fingers as a puff of smoke exited his lungs. The teen watched it drift upwards, disappearing into the ceiling. Leaning back, the General regarded his newly acquired slave, "where are you from?"

"Born in Iselia, sir."

"That's a big city; I've visited it a few times." He got up, strolling towards the window, beady eyes beginning to examine nothing in particular, "so, you're a long way from home, hm?" Another puff of smoke rose towards the world above. Kratos turned his head away, looking at the bottles that lay sideways on the top of the shelving.

"I have been for a very long time now." Nearly three years and the very thought made him shutter. Why were they talking about this? Clearing his throat, Kratos asked, "What's this about?"

Ignoring the teen, he pushed on with the previous conversation, "you're accent gives it away, actually." With a wave of his great hand, he signaled Kratos to come over to the window, the teen obeying though he kept a well-trained distance from the man. The Grand General turned to look at him, examining every inch of Kratos' features. "You say you were born in Iselia, so Sylvarant?"

"Yes…" Was there a reason this was such a pressing issue? The last time Kratos checked, the origins of slaves wasn't on the top of most peoples to-know list. In fact, it was said that the less you knew about a slave, the better. Knowing too much gets you emotionally attached, and if that happens, it's hard to keep them enslaved.

"You're parents wouldn't have happened to be from Tethe'alla by any chance, would they?"

Shaking his head, Kratos replied, eyes fixed out the window, "not that I know of. My mother was born from Palmacosta and my father has always said he was born in Iselia."

The older gave a thoughtful noise before turning and going back to his desk. Upon seating himself, he shuffled through a rather tall stack of papers before finding what he was looking for. "This is a copy of the law," the papers were shoved to the front of the desk, Kratos walking over to retrieve it. "It explains the federal laws of Tethe'alla as well as the city laws of Meltokio. I suggest you read them carefully. They explain the rights of the people you'll be working under and with, as well as the rights someone of your status has."

He had rights? Well, that was something new. Taking the crisp copy in his hand, he flipped through it as the General continued to speak to him, "I provide every one of my slaves with a copy of their rights. It's only fair." He leaned back, turning his chair to face the window. Although he wasn't looking at anything in particular, the teen could tell he was giving something considerable thought.

"Thank you, sir." He held it loosely in his arms. He wasn't exactly sure how it was fair given Kratos couldn't read Tethe'allan, but he supposed he could ask someone about the content later. He also wasn't sure why the Grand General was so deep in thought over their conversation.

A lazy gaze came to look at Kratos, who was clutching the papers to his chest. "You're welcome." Taking another long swig of his cigar, the Grand General turned his chair slightly to face Kratos once more, "I guess it's only fair to tell you what you'll be doing for me." Giving a slight smile to the teen, he reached forward to lean his elbows on his desk, now fully engaged in the conversation.

It was involuntary; Kratos' feet moved him back a little. Direct eye contact, it was something the Grand General was very good at doing, apparently. He supposed he'd have to find a way to get over it.

"First, I'm Grand General Roy Steele, official protector of the King and head of the entire military." So that was where Kratos had heard the name from. It'd been bugging him slightly ever since the commander of the Asasesr had said it. His father use to talk about the royal guard all the time, said they were the only reason the King of Tethe'alla was still alive. Now, he was standing face to face with said protector. That only made him shy away more.

Leaning a little closer, Roy let out a sigh, "my third eldest son, well, he's a bit of a handful. He's about ready to graduate the Elite Military Academy but he's one strike away from being kicked out." Kratos raised an eyebrow, waiting for the man to continue. "His previous slave ran into some…problems and he demands he has a new slave to take her place."

Kratos could tell where this was going and it wasn't making him feel very good. Butterflies were gnawing away at his stomach as Roy continued to talk, "Getting him another female was out of the question since his mishaps could cause him his graduation. So, I decided I'd get him someone a little more like him."

Silence echoed through the room, making the teen's ears ring. He was going to be the slave of some pompous General's son? He'd have to listen and do everything this kid wanted him, too?

"Anyway, you'll be meeting up with him today. You see, he's on holiday and I promised I'd bring him back a slave from the Harvest." He breathed in another puff of air from his cigar. "I'll send for Bretta, she'll help you get cleaned up."

Looking down, he noticed how disgusting he actually looked. Dirty clothes, his arms caked in dirt and saw dust. Kratos could only imagine what he smelled like. His attention was taken from him when he watched the Grand General click a button on his desk, a voice coming from somewhere inside.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Send Bretta this way."

"Yes, sir."

Another click and the General was looking at Kratos. It was only a second of staring before Kratos looked towards the bottles again, "you collect bottled ships." Roy's eyes travelled to the top of the shelves where many bottles, each with a small ship on the inside, sat. There were different vessels in each, and every single one was a different color.

"Yes, I do." Kratos continued to look at them, eyes transfixed on the smallest details each had. General Roy gave a cough before speaking, "is that your natural hair color?"

"What?" Looking at the older man, he furrowed his eyebrows, "is red my natural hair color?" Kratos could see the awkwardness covering the General's face. He was hiding it well, but he couldn't mask the discomfort he felt from asking the strange question.

"Yes, it's an unusual color for someone from Sylvarant."

He supposed it was. There weren't very many redheads in Iselia, though that was because red wasn't a common color to begin with. Shrugging, Kratos stated, "well, sir, it's natural." Just then, a knock came at the doorway and a woman walked in. She was nearly as big as the doorway, thick arms crossing across her wide chest.

Raising a blonde eyebrow, she inquired, "what is it I can help you with, sir?" She was leaning on one hip, her head tilted to the side. Kratos was almost positive he'd never seen anyone so big in his life and she actually scared him more than the General did.

"Bretta, thank you for rushing. He's a new slave who will be meeting with his future master, Everence, in a couple of hours. If you could work your magic?"

Letting out a long sigh, she placed her large hands on her hips, "I suppose so, if you need me too."

"Great," Roy motioned for the teen to head towards the plump woman at the entry way with a wave of his hand.

Doing as he was ordered, he walked over to her, the lady stepping back through the door and out into the hall. Before Kratos could disappear behind the door, the Grand General's voice came to his ear, "I never got your name."

Looking back, he responded with a bow, "Aurion, sir. Kratos Aurion."


	4. The Shower

A/N: Alright! Look at me and my bad self! I updated so quickly! This chapter won't be having Kratos' new master in it, but it gives more insight into Kratos' psychological standing as well as just Bretta's character in general. I really enjoy writing her and I hope you guys enjoy her too! Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed last chapter and thank to those who favorite/followed me and/or Branding! You guys are great!

Read on and enjoy!

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Chapter Four: The Shower

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Bretta and Kratos headed out of the office, travelling down the stairway that overlooked the ocean before heading out the double doors. Turning onto a dirt path, the two strolled past the fine buildings and structures, reaching the back of the property which sat connected to the castle wall.

Several shacks lined the castle wall, their wooden frames sagging under the weight of standing for so many years without repair. Kratos could see the other servants and slaves hurrying in and out of the buildings, feet padding against the soft dirt. Bretta heaved a sigh, looking back at the auburn before giving him a small smile, "Sorry it's so busy. With the young master coming home, everyone's in a hurry to get things cleaned up."

It didn't bother him, actually. He was honestly just happy to be in the open air again. Hurrying people didn't bother him anymore, not like before.

Making their way inside one of the middle most shacks, Bretta shouted overhead, "I'm coming through! Move or be squished!" As they entered, a kitchenette area was to their left while a couple of tables and chairs were to the right. Past a wall and a curtain, bunk beds lined both sides of the room, people snuggling between them to make room for the large woman that was coming through.

"Bretta, ya'd best being careful. I'd hate fur ya ta gets stuck." A very heavily accented voice spoke, a middle aged man grinning as Bretta shot him a look.

"Get to your gardens, Harneld. Or I'll stick you in one of those flower pots you got lying around." The man only grinned wider before motioning for her to continue walking. She made her way through the thin pass of beds, Kratos following close behind, until she reached a door. Pushing it open without so much as a knock, there were several shouts as she called inside. "Get yourselves dressed. I don't care what you're wearing as long as it's hiding your junk!" Several more complaints came but everyone complied. She squished herself between a set of beds and the wall, the men and women inside filtering out, some fully dressed while others were wrapped in thin towels.

When everyone was clear, Bretta gestured in, "After you."

Kratos headed in, seeing the shower stalls to the left and the toilet stalls to the right as well as a long mirror sitting parallel with the entrance. Bretta came in after him, placing a large hand on her plump hip, "You can strip and take a shower in here. I'll bring you some clean clothes." Kratos turned his head towards her, nodding slightly.

A shower. He wasn't sure when the last time he'd taken one of those was. Trying to remember caused his stomach to turn, horrid memories resurfacing in his brain. He was chained to the wall, scorching hot water rushing down his back. It burned so badly, made him want to scream. But he'd always hold it in, never letting so much as a whimper exit his lungs. That would anger Sigheart, the man changing the temperature to ice cold, causing excruciating pain. Switching between both settings for a while, he'd finally finish him off by whipping his back while it was still scolding hot.

"Are you okay with that?" Bretta's voice cut through his thoughts, making him blink a couple of times. Looking at her, he gave a tentative nod.

She raised a thin eyebrow but didn't say anything, turning with some effort and exiting the room with a gentle closing of the door.

It took a moment for the auburn to feel completely alone. The voices of those who were hurrying outside still bled through the fractured wooden panes with ease. The rushing sound of wind, the cawing of birds, all of it still filtered its way into the room he was in. When everything sounded distant, however, he began taking off his clothes. Not daring a glance in the mirror, he walked into one of the showers and turned the water on, being greeted with instantly warmed water.

It startled him at first, but it began to feel nice. The way it washed down his skin, scraping away dirt and grime; layers of filth caressed off his skin by the water's warm hands. He reached for the soap, scrubbing at himself from top to bottom, the suds tickling him. For the first time in a long time, he was able to lather soap on his face, cleaning away the dried blood that'd come to rest upon it. He was also able to let his hands wander over his newly cleaned skin. His fingers gingerly ran along his chin, feeling the scarred skin of several slices. Sigheart had slashed him along the face to force Kratos to maintain consciousness. They'd added up over the years and feeling them only terrified him. Moving to a new location, they danced across his neck, feeling the bruising that had yet to heal. Working their way around, they grazed the charred skin on the back of his neck.

It stung, hurting him, causing him to drop to his knees.

He was breathing hard, the fresh memories of being branded burning into his mind once more. The way Sigheart laughed at him, mocked him. The way the rest of them watched with glee set in their eyes. He was nothing but a toy to them, some kind of caged bird they'd never set free. He could feel it there, fingers probing it even though it stung.

The brand, crusted and singed, was the entire reason for the hell he'd endured. When Kratos had first been taken in by the Araser, he'd threatened them and mocked them. Throwing every insult he had at them, he'd convinced himself that, even though his parents had been killed, his younger brother was still out there and would be looking for him. Yes, his brother had run away to join the military but he'd receive word of what the Araser had done and he'd make them pay. He'd save Kratos, kill the ones who'd murdered their parents and they'd leave. He would get the last laugh.

His arrogance had bought him the attention of Sigheart, who swore he would not give up until he broke Kratos' spirit, determined to brand the auburn himself once the boy was nothing more than a whimpering shell of his former self.

The auburn had been stupid in thinking he could resist that and now…now he wore that cursed brand.

Without thinking, he began clawing. It burned, hurting worse than the memories did, but his nails wouldn't stop. They dug into his skin, working to rid his flesh of the vivid mark once and for all. The water that cascaded down from his back turned dull red, twisting down the drain.

He could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes, hear the words Sigheart had said to him on that day.

_That brand will forever bind you and I_.

Why was he still alive, still wearing the disgusting mark that damned Araser had given him? If he could die, that would end it all, end his suffering and free him from the binds that tied him down.

The tears broke free, mixing with the rusty water before tumbling down his face.

Kill himself.

That's what he needed to do.

End it all himself. Finally take some initiative in his life and end it all right here, right now. Sigheart couldn't win if he didn't rule over Kratos. It would be his last act of defiance, his last stance to show he wasn't completely gone.

His nails only dug deeper, making the pain ring through his body. His entire body shook, fear and rage mixing together just like the water and the blood. He'd do it, he'd do it, he'd do it. Kill himself and get it over with, end everything so he could float away in the darkness that was death. Sleep eternally in a hell far more pleasant than the one he was in right now.

With both hands now, he clawed at the burned marking, each rip at his flesh bringing about searing pain. Every damned memory of the last three years came washing over him just as the water was.

Kill me!

Kill me!

Over and over again in his head, he'd screamed it, shouted it, pleaded it, but it'd never came true.

Kill me!

Kill me!

"Kill me!"

There were strong arms pulling him back, his broken body tumbling into something soft and thick. Struggling against it, he was shouting incoherently. "Don't…no! Please, no! Oh God, I'm sorry! I swear…not again, please!"

"Calm down, Kratos! What the hell has gotten into you?" His struggling stopped instantly when his mind recognized the voice behind him. It was Bretta's voice, filled to the brim with concern. It was evident in the way she held him back that she'd witnessed him only moments before.

Going slack in her grasp, he took several shaky breaths. Not trusting his voice, the auburn kept quiet. Once Bretta deemed him safe to release, she did so, Kratos dropping to his knees before he started sobbing again.

"What's the matter?" This wasn't her first time dealing with distressed individuals. Kneeling down as best she could in the small amount of space, she placed a hand on his shoulder. Tension rose through his shoulders, stiffening them instantly. It caused her to jolt her hand away quickly before she slowly lowered it back to her side. "I'm sorry."

Kratos didn't look at her, fear coursing through him, "please don't tell on me…I promise I'll be good."

Bretta raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down a couple of times, "Tell on you? What is this, grade school? I'm not going to tell the Grand General anything. He doesn't understand what you're going through…"

Honestly, Kratos figured she had no idea either. However, he didn't dare voice his thoughts, keeping them very much locked inside. "You won't tell _him_ will you?" It was almost too painful to say, the very thought of the man causing the torn up branding to sting even more.

Bretta shook her head, "Everything that I saw, that you say, will be kept between you and me. I double promise not to tell anyone anything." Her movement was painstakingly slow as her hand came to rest on Kratos' thin shoulder only after it touched them tentatively. She was judging his reaction to her. When there was no clear sigh of rejection, she laid the beefy palm across the boney surface. "When I first got here, I'd been bought as a slave, too. I was terrified, like you, and I felt so alone. It was like the entire world had turned its back on me, but you know what?"

The auburn only half looked at her, eyes empty. She gave him a smile, "I decided I'd start doing it all for myself."

There was a small hint in Kratos' features that he was confused by what she was saying, so she clarified, "The moment you start working for them, your life is over. However, if you work for yourself, they can't own you. So I don't get paid, so I don't get benefits but you know what I do get? Respect, achievement. I set and strive for goals, even if the Grand General would laugh at them."

He tilted his head slightly, though his eyes didn't lock with hers, instead on the ticking water that sat inside the shower he'd just been yanked from, "Like what?"

"Like what?" She scrunched her eyebrows together, deep in thought, "Well, my son's birthday is coming up, actually. I've decided that I'm going to sneak out to see him. That's my big one right now."

Other than the sound of the water on the tile, silence wondered between them for a moment. Bretta was gauging him, judging if Kratos was ok now. She kept her hand in place, the weight of it catching Kratos' attention.

Turning his head away from her, he whispered, "I'm fine." Shrugging her off of him, he attempted to stand, legs shaking under him. None the less, his feet held his weight but he used the wall in front of him to support himself. The sting at the back of his neck seemed to ebb back into existence as he stood, so he leaned his head down to keep himself from getting dizzy.

"You sure don't look fine." Bretta made her way to her feet, looking at the back of his neck carefully. A gentle finger touched the broken skin, "You're bleeding real bad-" She was cut off when she heard a growl, almost inhuman. Her eyes could see through the mess of auburn that it was coming from Kratos.

"Don't touch me." It wasn't a warning, it was a threat. She backed off immediately, hand pulled away protectively.

Nodding, she spoke, "Alright, alright. No need to get fussy with me. I won't bother it but, could you please tend to it? I don't want it to get infected." Huffing at him as she placed her large palms on her hip, she muttered more to herself than anything, "Geez, you are something else, aren't you?" Turning around, she grabbed hold of the clothing she'd brought in, pushing it towards him. His wine colored eyes turned her way, gazing at the clothing before looking away.

"Right…" was his reply, his voice barely above a whisper. Reaching a tentative hand out, he snatched up the clothing and pulled them towards himself, relieved she hadn't pulled them away at the last second, taunting him and asking for him to reach again.

Bretta turned back around, walking towards the exit, "I'll be outside the door. If you need anything, just holler." Opening it and closing it behind herself, she was out of his sight in the matter of a second. It was only then that he noticed how terribly he was shaking, rather it be from cold or fear he wasn't sure.

Not bothering to touch the burned area at the back of his neck, he stepped back in the shower and rinsed his hair, feeling the harshly cut strands between his fingers. His hair had been excessively long, not having been cut for around three years. Of course, after the branding, Sigheart sliced it off to display to the world his little toy. Shuddering and shaking his head, he forced his mind to focus on what he was about to do.

Stepping out and shutting down the water, he felt a bit of relief when he saw Bretta had indeed stayed outside of the room. She hadn't wandered in to check on him, to make sure he didn't start scratching at his neck again. Picking up the clothes he'd received, he stepped over his disgusting ones and looked at the mirror which sat opposite the door.

Now that he was clean, he imagined he looked significantly better. Though his skin was still pale and purple in places and much of the scarred flesh still fresh, he at least looked presentable, especially when he got on some good clothes.

Slipping into the uniform he'd received, he looked at himself once more. Thankfully, most of the battery and bruises were hidden by the long sleeves and long pant legs. Pulling on the final touch, an embellished vest streaked with purple and silver, he buttoned it up and looked at himself for the final time.

How he hated the way purple looked on him. His hair was red and, in his opinion, purple clashed and looked atrocious on him. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it now. Letting out an internal sigh, he turned around and headed for the door. He'd be heading into a new life of servitude and he wasn't looking forward to it. But, he hoped against hope, that it wouldn't be as bad as what he'd already gone through.

No more torture, no more pain, no more suffering. He'd simply become no one in a massive sea of someones, ammoniums for the rest of eternity.


End file.
